Opinion: Do you recognize my black America?

Back in 2010 when “Silly Bandz” were considered high-fashion accessories to the average middle schooler, I remember taking a trip to Walmart to buy some. This was going to be my first time buying a package of the wacky-shaped elastic bracelets, so I was extremely excited. All my friends at school were wearing them, so that increased my eagerness.

As I was sorting through the packages in the toy section, trying to decide the perfect set of colors and shapes for me, I saw a figure move from the corner of my eye. The figure was a slim, white man. He had to be in his mid-20s. He was one of the employees at Walmart. He glanced at me every few seconds, and I wasn’t too bothered — my mom was a few aisles away, and I figured he was just supervising the area because there were a handful of kids around me with no adults in sight.

I continued to sort through the packages as two girls came right beside me. They looked around my age; one had blonde hair, and the other had sort of a chestnut blend. They were both white. One of the girls edged a little closer to the bin of packages, then slowly grabbed the neon package of bands, opened it, and slipped it in her pants.

She’s stealing, I thought as I finally chose the animal-edition of the bracelets. And she’s right by me. I quickly walked away.

But as I began to leave that section, the slim, dark-haired man walked up to me. He said, “There’s an empty package on the floor, could you open your pockets for a second?” I quickly dug in my pockets to flip them inside out. Nothing was there. I also showed him the package I was intending to buy, tightly gripped in my right hand. He let me go, but I noticed he left the toy section shortly after. I thought about the two white girls still in the toy section, as I walked toward my mom at the check-out. This is my black America.

Fast-forward to a few months later, a story about a 16-year-old black boy set to serve three years on Rikers Island without trial after being wrongfully accused of stealing a backpack, made headlines nationwide. I was 14 at the time, and that terrified me. Shortly after the boy's release, it was discovered that his accuser fled the country.

Two years later, the boy committed suicide as a result of the mental and physical abuse he endured as an inmate at one of the most notorious prisons in the nation. His name was Kalief Browder. This was my black America.

Fast-forward to a year later, in 2011. I saw headlines about a 17-year-old black boy wrongfully murdered by a man who considered him “suspicious.” His killer was acquitted of all charges in 2013. The boy’s name was Trayvon Martin. This was my black America.

Today, African-Americans are still falsely accused and murdered, harassed and bullied, simply because of the color of our skin. This kind of prejudice is one that will forever haunt me. This is my black America.

Jakeira Gilbert, a graduate of Lincoln High, is a junior at Florida A&M University majoring in broadcast journalism.